The Tech Trap

By Deborah Berry

A MOM'S FIGHT FOR HER DAUGHTER IN 

A WORLD OF MODERN TECHNOLOGY

Upon discovering her daughter had wandered off into technological weeds at the young age of twelve, Deborah Berry was called to action based on the belief her daughter was on the verge of being swept away into the sex tr

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tech Trap, LLC
• Release date: Sep 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954020153

Book preview

PART ONE

The Journey

One

Revelations from the Journey

There is a world before the Wilderness and Therapeutic Boarding School and there is a world after.

The world before is the one that we all strive for. Precisely coordinated carpools. Savory crock-pot meals between sports practices and homework. Girl Scout cookies, summer camp, and church on Sunday.

The world after is the one that is full of judgment. It is unfamiliar and feels like the wild frontier. There is no map, no clear-cut directions. It is a very confusing, dark, and lonely place full of desperation. There are no friends, there is no support, and shame is your companion.

Cautious parents subtly move in a direction opposite of you and your child. The party invitation is perpetually lost in the mail. There is an uneasy awareness; instinctively you know you are being talked about behind your back.

And so it goes. We made our exit at the end of sixth grade and no one even noticed we did not return in the fall. In short order, I found myself in the registrar’s office of the middle school withdrawing my daughter. The process left me feeling exposed and uncomfortable as if I had done something wrong. As I unraveled the tentacles tethering her to a traditional education, I knew her broken pieces could never be put back together in the same way. I held my new mantra as if it were a shield of armor . . . Don’t look back, we’re not going that way.

Decisions needed to be made. I could project a few short years into the future and imagine the worst in addictions, promiscuity, and a lost life full of lies. Where there is smoke, there is fire, and it was only a matter of time before my house was burning down. I was obsessed with making the right decision, turning the details over again and again in my mind. I prayed for guidance to help me get it right the first time. It was imperative in order for me to live with myself.

Parenting was the holy grail for me, and I could not and would not live with regret. At the end of the day, she remained ultimately responsible for her choices, but I needed to know I had done everything within my power to provide her with love and unwavering support. I needed her to know I had her back and would crawl across broken glass for her. At the same time, I believed in the wisdom of letting those you love take their destined journey. My interference in that process would cheat her out of the lessons and life she was intended to live.

I wrestled with my competence to parent. I had devoted my life to my children and suddenly found myself in uncharted territory, out of answers. I was raw with emotion knowing this child stripped me of my ability to cope and what was worse, I felt it in every bone of my body. I was not detached and I was exhausted. I hated the morning dawn, knowing it would only bring another day that looked exactly like yesterday. She was full of defiance, disrespect, and hate, yet my daughter was only a child. I mused that God would never take me because that would be too easy.

To lay my head down on a pillow, close my eyes and not awaken to this Earth was an enticing thought. Gone would be the pain and heartache of the struggle—in its place would be sweet relief washing over me, making me feel whole again. A permanent solution which was no real solution at all. I would remain and honor the agreement I had made, relying on every ounce of courage I had to move myself forward.

The idea of turning my child over to others to do what I had not been able to cut me to my absolute core. You may as well have reached in and pulled my heart out. Painfully exposed, I reconciled the truth as I knew it: I had to check my mother ego. It was less selfish of me to let go than it was of me to hold on. The few short years taken in order to heal would be worth the next sixty in health. God willing.

More than once, I endlessly questioned the professionals; Did it take a sledgehammer to kill a mosquito? Well, the answer was yes. The best results require foresight. Quick action equates to time, and time equates to options. Control of what happens and how it happens is in the hands of the parent until the age of eighteen. That is a very powerful insight. There was something deep inside me that intuitively knew this was correct. It was time to cross over.

The Wilderness* offered light where there was darkness. There was hope to reset where no one cares who your family is or where you came from. It is about being quietly still without distractions. Nature holds no judgment; it only demands you cooperate or face consequences. It was a perfect untainted environment in which to reconnect to the core of what it means to be purely human. Living in the wilderness would make her different. We had stepped off the traditional path. It would be unpredictable from this point forward—we did not know where this road would lead.

There would be no return to normal, rather it was a new normal. I was comfortable in my own skin and never worried too much about what others thought. But this was different, this was my child. I wanted to protect her from the cruel whispers of society. I warned her to keep her story to herself in the event she returned to school. No one should know her dark secrets, as they would surely be used against her.

I spent a lot of time blaming myself, two years to be exact. I felt certain I had failed my daughter somewhere along the way. With surgical precision, I played the what if game in my dreams at night knowing I held the ultimate responsibility for her well-being. What had I done, what had I failed to do? I turned over every stone and looked around every corner searching for the moment I wish I could take back.

One day I decided maybe this was not about me. Just maybe it was about her. Was it possible I had been chosen to help her navigate her destined path through life? Just maybe God thought highly enough of me to grant me the task of loving her unconditionally on this journey.

Eventually I settled down, knowing the answers would be provided to me at the exact moment I needed them the most. I learned to trust myself and listen for God in this partnership. Admittedly, I did not always understand, and would question why. Every now and again my emotions would get the better of me and I would become filled with anger, frustration, resentment, and overwhelming sadness. When that happened, circumstances would carry me along to the next step whether I wanted to go or not.

In my quiet moments of reflection, I could recognize God’s handiwork, which often left me amazed at the perfect synchronicity of His universe. Nothing was left to waste and that was stunningly awesome. I once again felt gratitude to be a part of His miracle as I continued on this path with my daughter.

* A Wilderness Therapy Program is a specialized outdoor experience designed to assess, clearly diagnose, and deal with behavioral issues leading to recommendations for the next level of care.

Two

The Tech Trap

Do not get me wrong, I love my technology. Just this morning I used Google Maps to get to my appointment, order a book off of Amazon, and make dinner reservations, all before noon. Later, I surfed the web, researching ideas for our next family vacation. In between looking at flights and hotels, I sent a family group text, warning of inclement weather . . . which I checked on my weather app.

However, I did not love technology so much on a spring day in 2016. My world as I had known it instantly and permanently changed. Before the end of the day, I would be irreversibly plunged into crisis management mode, making decisions I never thought I would need to make.

It was an ordinary afternoon, and as was my habit, I monitored my youngest child’s social media, making a mental note to be more consistent. On autopilot, I spot-checked the usual: Instagram, emails, and texts. All were clear. Then I did something I did not usually do, I looked at her photo library. They were typical photos a young middle schooler would take: silly faces, funny poses, and awkward attempts to appear cool and more grown up than the reality of the sheltered twelve years she had already lived. Amused, I continued to work my way backward, until unexpectedly I came across a series of screenshots. Upon closer investigation, I was alarmed to realize the text exchanges were between random strangers and my daughter.

Like a deer in the headlights, I became paralyzed as chills ran over my body. Unable to comprehend, I slowly and deliberately re-read each text exchange, trying to process indelicate language while keeping my composure. As my gut churned, I instinctively knew this child was in over her head.

In that moment, I set forth on a journey I was stunned to find myself on. I would enter into a world I knew nothing of and wanted nothing to do with. I would deeply and painfully question my parenthood. I would wrestle endlessly with life-altering decisions. I would be brought to my knees, praying nightly to God to not create further wounds for this child. And along the way, I would learn to trust myself in this process.

I was undeniably headed for disaster. I could see the future by reading the handwriting on the wall; my beautiful twelve-year-old daughter would eventually look me in the eyes and say, Fuck you. I would not recognize her shameless disrespect, foul language, flippant attitude, or sexualized behavior. That moment came sooner than I thought. Waves of trepidation washed over me as I tried to decipher the eerie feeling deep inside the pit of my stomach that left me feeling nauseous. As I watched my daughter rapidly transform before my eyes, I needed to ascertain who and what I was dealing with.

The screenshots I found that spring day strongly suggested I had only stumbled across the tip of the iceberg. Ultimately her computer would hold the key. If I could only figure out how to resurrect her past. Intuitively, I knew as most mothers do, there would be collateral damage in what I found. With total resolve, I nervously implored my older daughter to comb the history, temp files, and cookies associated with the computer in question. We braced ourselves as she dug deep, eventually locating and unearthing the evidence of her sister’s covert activities. It was a total gut punch. I felt sick to my stomach while my heart shattered. Free-falling with nothing to hold on to, I struggled to calm myself.

In complete horror, I witnessed a history of countless visits to vile adult porn sites, interactions with sleazy dating sites, and personal screenshot images that were difficult to look at. Was that my daughter? Red flags from the past began to stitch themselves together as the world crashed around me and landed squarely on my shoulders. In that instant, life as I knew it took a hard pivot.

What was I going to do? I do not know why, but I felt a heightened sense of urgency to take action as if her life depended on it. Later, my suspicions would be confirmed as I would discover she had a failed attempt to meet with one of her predators who had been masquerading as a boyfriend. As the gravity of the situation set in, I realized in that moment, my daughter could have been the next innocent young girl on a sex trafficker’s auction block never to be seen or heard from again or the newest pre-teen addition to an online pornographic catalogue for perverts. We had dodged a bullet; in fact, I believed we saved her life, although I will never know for certain. It would be several more years before I would learn more specifics of the traumatizing truth; the sketchy details of the journey a cyber sexual predator took her on starting at the vulnerable age of ten.

It was during this uncertain period of time I ran into a friend I had known for many years, but had not seen for quite some time. This particular friend always seemed to randomly surface when I needed information and direction. True to form, over a casual lunch, she quickly launched into a personal story regarding the troubles of one of her children and subsequent placement in a specialized program. She had identified the program through the guidance of a professional service. It was as if she had read my mind. A deep wave of relief washed over me as I realized she was providing me with information for a path forward. This was the first time I had heard of Educational Consultants.

Ed consultants, as they are commonly called, specialize in accessing unique needs and circumstances of kids and matching them to an identified program. That was the very thing I needed, someone to provide direction and options. I was fighting with my daughter, wrangling with my emotions, and battling my overwhelming disappointment. I needed a lifeline. I needed a plan.

At twelve years of age, my bold and fiery daughter entered the Nantahala Mountain wilderness for a duration of ninety endless days and nights. The wilderness was followed by a two-year stint in a therapeutic boarding school for pre-teen girls, followed by eighteen months in yet another therapeutic boarding school located in the North Carolina countryside. It was a very long four years.

I am eternally grateful to the professionals who kept my daughter safe from the

Reviews for The Tech Trap

[Mars lol · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

When I say this book is bad, I mean absolutely horrid. She preformed at my 15 year old daughters school and what she told the sophomores was disgusting. I understand her daughter was getting groomed but sending her to a wilderness camp where she didnt shower for 90 DAYS??! that is abuse, and she neglected her from the ages 12-16. Disgusting. She could've solved this all with a simple talk. She talked to my daughters school about "how members won't work" if they watch porn, not appropriate. I am convinced the author is insane.